Page 134 of Who’s That Girl?

Beatrice looks at me doubtfully. ‘Hmm, well, according to his notes, it just says you came in suffering from stress: the doctors here had access to your medical files after the accident.’

I look at her dazedly. Waking up in hospital and being told you’ve been in a car accident you don’t remember happening is bewildering enough, but then being told that the stuff you do remember didn’t happen is enough to totally freak you out.

‘Don’t worry,’ soothes Beatrice. ‘I once dreamed I went to see the doctor and he asked me to get undressed so he could examine me, and when I turned round, he’d morphed into the fearsome matron at my old boarding school!’ She looks at me aghast. ‘Though that was more of a nightmare than a dream.’ Shuddering, she hastily turns back to the on-screen diary. ‘Right, where was I? Oh, yes, then in the afternoon we had the spa opening.’

‘And we had that conversation about time travel.’

Beatrice looks at me blankly. ‘Did we? Golly, I was so drunk we could have been having a conversation with Brad Pitt and I wouldn’t remember.’

I feel a beat of disappointment. Maybe she doesn’t remember the conversation. Then again, it’s more likely it never happened, I admit to myself reluctantly.

‘Then on Thursday evening you had dinner with Larry Thompson at his hotel.’

‘And went to see Shattered Genius in concert,’ I say almost to myself.

‘No, there’s nothing in the diary about any concert. Plus I called you afterwards. You were at home, remember?’ She looks at me and I realise I’m thinking aloud. ‘Then Friday was your birthday dinner.’

‘And afterwards I went to Lottie’s party,’ I murmur.

‘No, sorry.’ Beatrice looks at me sympathetically. ‘Nothing about that either.’

Well, why would there be? I tell myself, but even as I think it, I know I’m clutching at straws. Beatrice is right: I’ve been mixing fact with fantasy, dreaming about last week’s actual events and interspersing them with my own imaginary ones about meeting my younger self, getting everything jumbled up. Unexpectedly I feel a clunk of sadness.

‘It just seemed so real.’ I sigh. ‘I really thought I met my twenty-one-year-old self, that I’ve been hanging out with her. I could have sworn—’

‘Golly, you did get a bang on the head, didn’t you?’ The doctor walks in and throws me a smile. ‘Don’t worry, the effects of the drugs wear off in no time.’

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Well, honestly, what was I thinking? Of course it was just a dream.

‘OK, so let’s see how the patient’s doing.’ Walking over to me, he consults my chart and looks pleased. ‘Your X-rays are great. Your vitals are great.’ He nods, then looking up, glances at my face. ‘Brow’s healing nicely.’ He smiles warmly and I realise he’s probably not much older than I am. ‘We’ll keep you in overnight, just to make sure everything’s OK, but you should be out of here tomorrow.’

‘And how long before my shoulder heals?’ I ask, as he slips my chart back into its holder.

‘You should start physio in a couple of weeks, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to drive for a while.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, grateful that I’ve not done any lasting damage.

‘My pleasure.’ He nods. ‘OK, so I’ll check on you later. Bye, Charlotte. Bye, Beatrice.’ He smiles, glancing across at her.

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she replies, blushing as a look passes between them.

Hang on a minute – I feel something slowly registering.

‘Did I just see that look, or was I dreaming that too?’ I say, once the doctor’s left the room.

Dragging her eyes away from the doorway, she turns to me, her face flushed with delight. ‘Isn’t he divine?’

I look at her in amazement. ‘You’re going out with my doctor?’

‘His name’s Hamish,’ she says proudly. ‘We met when you were first admitted, and then we kept bumping into each other over the last two days, by the coffee machine, in the canteen. He’s been working nights, you know.’

‘Now I know why you’ve been keeping a bedside vigil.’ I smile.

She gasps in indignation. ‘No, it’s not! I’ve been worried sick.’

‘It was a joke, Beatrice,’ I say quickly, and her indignation immediately melts away into wistfulness.

‘I think I’m in love,’ she confides in a whisper. ‘He doesn’t mind me talking about scientific things at all. In fact yesterday we had a fascinating discussion about X-rays and radiation.’